


Border of Light

by lusilly



Series: Earth-28 [12]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lost Love, Team, Teambuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusilly/pseuds/lusilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Kent is a kind, beautiful boy, but he is never completely with the Titans. There is always a part of him away, maybe still trapped in the Phantom Zone, maybe locked away with the Nightwing inside of him, maybe a part of him that died the day Thara was killed.</p><p>In the Nightwing's primordial darkness, the Flamebird calls, and Chris thinks the universe, for once, has been kind to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Border of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Written mostly to explore Chris’s character, and his Earth-28 relationship with the Nightwing, the Flamebird, and the singular love of his life, Thara Ak-Var.
> 
> Core Titans action - Damian, Iris, Lian, Chris, and Milagro. And some continuation, extension, and interpretation of the original Nightwing and Flamebird myth, so hey if u like Rao-Orthodox mythology, this fic is for you.
> 
> Earth-28 canon.

             _IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS VOID._

_RAO-THE-FATHER CREATED BEINGNESS, AND FORMED FROM VOID AND CHAOS LIGHT AND LIFE-GIVING WARMTH; AND WHERE THERE IS LIGHT, SO SAY RAO-THE-FATHER:_

_THERE MUST ALWAYS BE DARK_

 

It was late at night. The apartment in the middle of Metropolis was still, except for a woman and a man slipping into bed together with the quiet confidence of years together, of knowing each one another over and over again.

            Lois Lane leaned in to kiss her husband, wordlessly; they allowed themselves that moment, untouched and untouchable.

            And then Clark pulled away from her suddenly, glancing around. “What?” asked Lois. “What is it?”

            He didn’t reply immediately. Then he said, “Chris is up.”

            Lois sat up in bed, reaching out to turn on the lamp beside her bed. “Is he OK?”

            “Yes,” said Clark. “I think so.” A pause. “He’s going up to the roof. I’ll get him.” He lifted the sheets off his body, as if to get out of bed, but Lois beat him to it.

            “No,” she said. “I’ll go get him. Assuming he doesn’t fly off, I should be good enough, right?”

            Clark didn’t say anything. And then he nodding, staying in bed. Lois took a sweater from the closet and pulled it on, then left the room, heading up onto the roof of the Metropolis building.

            For a moment, in the darkness, she couldn’t see him; but then her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the moon and stars, and the ubiquitous city streetlights illuminating the air, even that of the roof above them. Chris sat at the far corner of the building, his legs hanging over the edge, peering up at the sky.

            She crossed the roof, sitting down beside him but keeping her legs safely on the floored side of the building’s edge.

            “Hey, you,” she said gently. He didn’t move. “Is everything OK?”

            “Everything’s fine,” he replied, his voice low, his gaze shifting to the concrete down below him. “I mean, everybody else is fine.”

            Lois didn’t reply immediately. “But not you?” she asked, reaching out to brush the tips of her fingers through his hair.

            He shook his head a little, pulling away from her fingers. “Not me,” he said.

            “Why not?”

            He was silent. He held his hands together in his lap, picking at his fingernails. Quietly, he said, “I fell asleep.”

            Lois watched him, concerned.

            “Or not,” he added, distress in his voice. “I don’t know. It was an unconscious state. Trance-like. It’s happened before, but not…not in a long time.”

            Lois watched her boy, brow knit in worry. “Are you hurt?” she asked him. “It’s not any kind of – some kind of attack or anything? You’re OK?”

            “Yeah,” said Chris, glancing up at her. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I don’t think it can hurt me.”

            “What is it, then?”

            He let out a sigh, looking back up at the moon. He mumbled something.

            Lois watched him. “What?” she asked. “I don’t have super-hearing, Chris.”

            He looked down at his hands, and he muttered, “Nightwing.”

            Her pulse of her heart seemed to slow. She reached out and took one of his hands. “What about Nightwing?” she asked. “Is he coming back?”

            “I don’t think he ever left,” he said, sounding miserable. “I just…I haven’t heard from him since…”

            Lois nodded. “Right,” she said. “Right.” Silence between them. She asked, “Is he trying to tell you something?”

            “No,” said Chris, too quickly.

            She didn’t say anything.

            “Yes,” relented Chris, hanging his head. “Yes. He’s saying something. I can feel it. It feels like I’m in fire. It feels like I’m burning, on the inside of me.”

            “What’s he saying?”

            He looked up at her with those piercing dark eyes. “Flamebird,” he said. “He says…she’s back.”

            For a moment, Lois said nothing. And then she wrapped her arms around the boy she called her son, and she began, “Oh, baby-”

            There was a sudden crushing, screaming, exploding sound, and then, suddenly –  _blackness_. Utter darkness, in every direction; Lois felt her stomach drop, a sense of directionless, floating panic overwhelming her. It was too dark to breathe. She could not feel any part of her body except for a crushing vacuum deep in her chest. Just as she was sure her lungs were going to collapse, it disappeared, and she was on the roof, thrown from her perch on the side of the building, scrabbling on the ground on her hands and knees. She peered up into the night sky to find a massive shadowy black figure there, wings spread out like those of a dragon. A figure in blue and red, miniscule in comparison to the shadow-thing, hovered at its head, jaws locked opened. Superman was shouting at the creature in a language made of strange, sliding, abrupt syllables: Kryptonese.

            The thing shuddered, beating his heavy wings. People were gathering on surrounding rooftops, even collecting on the street. Superman paused in his pleas to glance around him, surveying the people below him.

            Then he reached out and dove straight into the heart of the monster, disappearing into the darkness. Lois’s heart clenched as she remembered the feeling that had washed over her as she had been swallowed by the monster, the fear, the panic, the emptiness. She held her breath as the shadowy beast shuddered and molted in the dusk.

            And then the thing vanished, and from its place a hundred feet in the air, a boy came falling through the air, unconscious. Bystanders shouted in terror, but a moment later Superman swooped in and caught the boy, bringing him down to the rooftop. Lois ran to him, knelt beside them as Superman gently passed him over so Lois could take his broad shoulders, hold his head in her lap. “Thank you,” she said, “Superman.”

            He nodded, but uncharacteristically said nothing. Superman’s skin always shone with a sort of indefinable vibrancy and power, but Lois knew him well enough at this point to be able to recognize that paleness in his face, the flat, straight line of his lips. Clark was terrified.

            Superman shot up into the sky and disappeared. A few people came out to check on Chris, but eventually the others began to disperse. Somebody offered to call an ambulance, which she declined. She pressed two fingers to Chris’s neck, pretended she could feel a pulse, said something about Superman telling her everything would be OK. After a few more minutes, Clark came bounding out onto the roof. He knelt down beside her, took hold of her hand.

            “What happened?” she asked, her voice hushed. “What was that? What’s wrong with him?”

            “Nothing,” murmured Clark. “He needs rest, that’s all. And a recharge.”

            Clark reached to take Chris out of Lois’s arms. “Are you taking him to the Fortress?” she demanded, protectively keeping hold of him. “You better be taking me too, because there’s no way I’m leaving him like this. What the hell was that? Clark?”

            He didn’t say anything, only reached to take hold of Chris.

            Lois watched him carefully, allowing him to take their son, but keeping firm hold of his hand. “Was that,” she asked, “Nightwing?”

            Clark said nothing, his glasses slightly askew.

            And then, suddenly, Chris stirred. His eyes fluttered open, peering up at Lois first, then Clark.

            “Chris?” said Lois, her voice full of relief. “Chris? Are you OK? Can you talk to me?”

            He blinked. He sat up slightly; Clark supported him. He looked around.

            “Hey,” said Lois, leaning forward, catching his gaze with her own. “Chris, are you OK?”

            He looked at her. And then he launched himself up, into the sky and into space, disappearing completely. In the same moment, Clark was gone as well. Lois stayed there alone, on her knees, heart pumping furiously, an uncontrollable, impatient itching in every part of her body. She stood up and ran back inside, finding a communicator, opening it up. “Oracle,” she said.

            “Lois,” came a voice on the other end. “What a pleasure.”

            “I need you to find my boys.”

            “Boys? Plural?”

            “Clark. And Chris.”

            “I’m on it. Stay put. They may head right back to you, wherever they are.”

            Lois broke the connection, then opened a personal line. She paused, then she said, “Clark.”

            Nothing.

            “Bring him home,” she said.

            Not far from Metropolis, a mansion just outside Gotham City limits was all but empty. A butler was washing and mending clothes in the worker’s rooms by the garage. A man was peering at a computer screen, unmoving, and, upstairs, a boy was rifling through his closet, searching for a certain design he had discarded earlier. He knelt at the foot of the closet, irritation mapped across his face, the long sleeves of his simple black shirt rolled up to his elbows.

            There was a sudden  _crash_  and a loud, solid  _thump_  as something collided with the hardwood floor. Damian whipped around, instinctually falling into a defensive crouch, but after a moment of searching through the darkness, he cautiously straightened up, then took a few steps forward. “Chris?” he murmured, dropping to a knee beside the prone body on the ground. “What happened? Are you all right?”

            Chris Kent let out a little groan, then pushed himself up. “Damian,” he breathed. “I didn’t know where else to go…”

            “For what?” asked Damian, reaching out, helping Chris to his feet. “You’re weak,” he said, before Chris could answer. He slung one of Chris’s arms over his shoulders, then heaved him onto his bed. “Kryptonite poisoning?”

            “No,” replied Chris, leaning back on the balls of his hands, his palms sinking into the soft bed. “An…an outer-body experience, maybe.”

            Something like amusement flickering across his features, Damian corrected, “Out- _of_ -body experience.”

            “Right,” said Chris, rubbing his head, not looking up. “Right. Out-of-body. Not really me. Had to come here. Nobody knows more than you. Nobody’s got a computer like you do, anyway.”

            “Computer?” echoed Damian. “Why? What do you need?”

            “Information,” muttered Chris. “I need to find somebody.”

            “Who?”

            Chris looked up at Damian with shining eyes. A cold wind swept in from the broken window. Damian suddenly noticed the tears collecting in Chris’s eyes, and felt oddly uncomfortable.

            “Thara,” he breathed. “She’s back. I saw her.”

            Damian watched Chris uncertainly. “Thara?” he asked. Chris nodded. “Thara Ak-Var?” Chris nodded again, this time more urgently. “ _Flamebird_  Thara Ak-Var?”

            “Yes,” insisted Chris. “Yes!”

            Damian glanced around his room, as if searching for someone else to break the truth to his friend. Then he looked back at Chris and began, clearly attempting to convey kindness, although not quite reaching sincerity: “Chris,” he said. “Thara is dead.”

            The shadow of an angry snarl crossed Chris’s desperate, hopeful face, and for a split second, Damian saw a shine of red behind the other boy’s eyes. “No,” he said. “No, she’s not. I felt her, Damian. I  _felt_  her, inside of me, just like – just like it used to be. She’s alive. I  _felt_  her.”

            “What do you mean, you  _felt_  her?” asked Damian. “You two never had a psychic connection, did you?”

            “No,” said Chris. “ _Here_.” He touched his chest, the symbol there. “As  _Nightwing_. I felt her.”

            Damian’s eyes flickered down Chris’s body. “I was wondering about that,” he said. “You haven’t worn that uniform in a long time.”

            “Because,” said Chris, “this suit denotes the name  _Nightwing_. I haven’t been the Nightwing for a long time.”

            “Did you know,” said Damian, “there already is a Nightwing? And he’s a great friend and mentor to me, so I am a little disconcerted by your claim of ownership over the name-”

            Faster than Damian could see, Chris’s hand shot out and caught Damian roughly by the shirt; Chris was off the bed now, his feet floating a few inches off the ground. The tips of Damian’s toes were hardly brushing the wood floor.

            “That name,” breathed Chris, “is inside of me. It is a  _part_  of me. My people used to  _worship_  the Nightwing. If anything, then  _he_  has no right to the name. It is mine. I _am_  the Nightwing, and he is a sacred symbol. Not just a name.”

            Damian blinked at him, then raised a hand and placed it on Chris’s own, at his throat. “Alright,” he said. “Fine. I understand.” He paused, then said, “Let me down.”

            Chris didn’t move, then he bowed his head slightly in assent, and lowered himself to the ground. Damian held up his hands, firmly holding on to Chris’s arms.

            “Look,” he said lowly. “I know about Thara. My father has a video record, and accounts from your mother and father.” He paused. “I also know that, Kryptonian or not, there is no way she could have survived that.

            Chris closed his eyes. “No,” he said defiantly.

            “Yes,” said Damian. Chris sat down on the bed, burying his face in his hands. “Chris, I’m sorry. I’m familiar with Rao-Orthodox mythology. I know what she represented to you.”

            “She represented nothing,” said Chris dully. “She was the love of my life. In my soul. You don’t understand. I was born for her.”

            Damian said nothing, only watched his friend with pity in his eyes. After a moment, he started to say, “If there’s anything-”

            But suddenly the silence of his room was ripped apart by a loud, breathy scream; Chris fell onto the bed, his whole body shaking in a violent seizure. Damian said the other boy’s name, taking hold of Chris’s body, shouting to try and get through to the Kryptonian. Chris shook, his eyes rolling back into his head; a hand collided with the base of Damian’s neck, like ten tons of bricks in one touch, unrestrained by Chris’s usual boundaries. Damian gasped for breath, then, eyes hardening, climbed onto the bed, wrestling with the panicking power of a Kryptonian; he sat across Chris’s waist, taking his wrists in each of his hands, holding them above Chris’s head – Damian thought he must not be at full power, because it seemed far too easy to hold him down. Chris bucked, and Damian was almost thrown off of him; determinedly, he lay across Chris, pinning his legs down with his own, and Damian hissed, “Chris! Listen to me! Get a hold on yourself! You are not –  _Nightwing_ , you are  _Chris Kent_ -”

            Chris suddenly tore his arms out of Damian’s grip and squeezed tightly at Damian’s hips; out of shock or surprise or maybe pain, Damian let out a yelp, back arching, hands on either side of Chris’s head. There was a faint, out-of-place, knocking sound. Damian spat a curse at Chris, then someone spoke on the other side of the door. “Damian?”

            “Just a moment!” called Damian, still struggling with Chris. Damian shoved his knee hard into the other boy’s crotch, but he didn’t seem to notice; he pressed his forearm against Chris’s mouth, to silence his odd groaning, but Chris moved and writhed underneath him for another second and then-

            Instantly, Chris became limp. His eyes fluttered slightly, his mouth hung open, and he let out a small sigh. Cautiously, Damian still held him down for a moment, then carefully clambered off the bed. “Damian,” said Bruce again, from the other side of the door.

            “I’m  _coming_ ,” said Damian sharply. To Chris, he said, “Don’t move,” although he doubted the Kryptonian was conscious enough to hear his words.

            Damian stalked to his door; as it opened, a cross-breeze blew in the room, flickering the fireplace, displacing some papers from his drawing desk. He stepped out into the hall and gently closed the door behind him, as if afraid of waking Chris.

            “I’m not sure if you _noticed_ ,” said Damian, eyeing his father tensely. “But I’m a little  _busy_ at the moment.”

            Bruce just watched his son. He asked, “Was that Superboy?”

            “Yes.”

            There was an odd, contemplative silence. Then, sounding almost amused, Bruce asked, “Is everything all right?”

            “No,” replied Damian sharply, annoyed. “Father, if you would just give me a  _minute_  of privacy here then maybe I could resolve my personal disputes effectively without having to-”

            “What kind of dispute? Are you two fighting?”

            “ _No_ ,” said Damian, his irritation more pronounced now. “If we were fighting, I would have him on the ground right now. No, Father, he – it’s just…” he trailed, off searching for words. Desperately, he glanced around, as if salvation was hiding in the corners of the hallway. And then he began, sensibly: “Chris is having…a difficult night.”

            Bruce stared at him uncomprehendingly.

            Damian added, “… _Emotionally_ , that is.”

            Bruce glanced up at the door.

            “Girl,” said Damian, “things.” He cleared his throat. “Feelings. And the like.”

            Bruce nodded vaguely. “And you two are…”

            “It’s…” Damian paused, searching for an explanation. “I’m helping. Him. With said girl…things.” His mouth was far too dry, and this was the dumbest he had ever been in his life. He cleared his throat again. “He’s very distressed.” Sagely, he added, “Women.”

            Bruce watched his son for a moment, then let out a little breath. “Is he fit for patrol?”

            “No. I don’t think I’ll go out tonight.”

            “Very short notice.”

            “I would make for a very bad friend if I didn’t help him in his time of need.”

            Bruce said nothing. Then, “Would you like me to stay?”

            “No,” said Damian instantly. “No. Definitely not.”

            This hurt Bruce slightly, but he said nothing. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

            “Indeed. The morning. I will be here. I anticipate Chris will be gone by that time. Probably.”

            Bruce nodded. “Go tend to your teammate.”

            He turned and left. Damian watched him disappear down the corridor, then went back into his room, closing the door behind him.

            Chris was still lying on the bed, although he no longer seemed to be unconscious.

            “Chris?” asked Damian cautiously, approaching the bed. The Kryptonian was staring up at the ceiling almost dreamily, something like a smile on his face. “Chris? Can you hear me?”

            “Mm?’ Chris looked around. “Oh. Damian. Sorry. I completely forgot where I was for a second.” He laughed.

            Damian narrowed his eye suspiciously. “What’s happening?” he asked. “Something is very wrong with you. What’s going on?”

            “The Nightwing,” said Chris, sitting up. “He is a creature of darkness. You know this. Darkness, and shadows. But he has a burning in him, like a fire. I can feel it. A shining, burning fire. Like…warmth. Inside of me.” He laid down, pushing his head into the sheets, letting out an odd, almost indecent moan of something far too close to pleasure for Damian’s comfort. “I can feel her,” he breathed, nothing but joy in his voice. “I can just  _taste_  her.”

            “OK,” said Damian. “I don’t think I’m the most strongly qualified to counsel you on getting over your dead girlfriend, especially considering that you could have killed me just now. Maybe Superman would be better-”

            Chris sat straight up. “Superman,” he said. “He’s looking for me. I stalled him a little, but he’ll come this way eventually. The Batcave, it’s lead-lined. We need to get there right away.”

            “What?” asked Damian. “No. No, I’m not taking you to the Batcave. Your father can come take you home. In fact, it may be in your best interests to contact him.” Damian reached for the communicator on his desk, but, of its own accord, it lifted into the air, then split into pieces. Damian swore, then looked furiously at Chris, controlling the device with his TTK. “That was a custom design,” said Damian, gingerly picking up the pieces from the floor. “It took me  _months_  to perfect.”

            “I’ll put it back together,” said Chris. “Just take me to the Cave. Please.”

            Damian watched him for a moment. “ _Tt_. Fine. But only so I can take some of my father’s Kryptonite and knock you unconscious. You really are obnoxiously strange tonight.”

            “Please,” repeated Chris.

            Placing the remnants of the communicator on his desk, Damian nodded, and he opened his door. “Don’t touch anything,” he said, leading Chris down the wide stairwell, to the grandfather clock behind which was hidden an entrance to the Cave.

            “This is where you live?” asked Chris, impressed. “How come I’ve never been up here before?”

            “Because this is where I live,” answered Damian, annoyed. “And I don’t like intruders.”

            “I’m not an intruder. I’m your best friend.”

            Damian didn’t say anything.

            “After Iris, I mean. And Lian.”

            “Ugh,” uttered Damian, leading Chris down the steps into the Cave. “I don’t like Lian.”

            “Yes, you do,” said Chris.

            “No. I don’t.”

            “Yes, you actually do,” said Chris. “You laugh with her more than you laugh with Iris.”

            “Only because she’s vicious and unapologetic,” said Damian pointedly, “just like me.”

            Chris chuckled. “If you mean she’s a total bitch, then sure, I guess.” Damian took a seat in his father’s chair, before the computer. Chris stood behind the chair, peering up at the screen.

            “Now,” said Damian. “What is it you wanted to look at so badly?”

            “Thara,” said Chris instantly.

            Damian typed in the name ‘THARA AK-VAR.’ Basic information appeared. Damian scrolled through the stats, and then typed something into the encryption, accessing the full information, pictures, everything. “There’s nothing here,” said Damian. “Nothing since her death, anyway.”

            “She didn’t die,” insisted Chris. “I wouldn’t be able to feel her so…so  _vividly_ …if she weren’t alive.”

            “Her body was disintegrated,” said Damian doubtfully. “No creature made of organic matter could have survived that, human or alien.”  
            “She was neither,” said Chris resolutely. “She was a goddess.”

            “She was the earthly avatar of a minor deity,” said Damian, flicking through pages of the Rao-Orthodox scripture. “She was no more of a goddess than you are a god.”

            “I am a god,” said Chris.

            Damian paused, then turned around in the seat to look his friend in the eye. “Careful,” he said. “You don’t want to sound too much like your biological parents now, do you?”

            Chris’s eyes turned steely. Damian turned back to the computer. There was silence for a moment, then Chris said, “That was really bitchy, Damian.”

            “You just said it,” said Damian. “Lian and I. Bitchiness is part of the package.”

            “Fine,” said Chris. “Look for information about the Flamebird. Not Thara, but Flamebird.”

            Damian did so. Little difference in information.

            “How about, abnormal Kryptonian activity?”

            “Your father would likely have better resources on this.”

            Chris snorted. “Better than Batman? Yeah, right.”

            Silently, Damian allowed himself to feel arrogantly pleased at the certainty in Chris’s voice. “There’s not much here. Maybe you only think Nightwing is speaking to you. Have you been around any purple kryptonite lately?”

            “Not since you baked them into brownies, no,” answered Chris. “I’m not drugged. I know what I saw, and I know what I felt, and I felt  _her_.”

            Damian stopped researching. He was silent for a while, then, his voice pained, he said, “Chris…”

            “Look,” said Chris, his heartbeat loud and strong. “Last time this happened, Thara reached across space and reality and even  _time_  to get me out. She was a – a  _nun_ , you would call it, on Earth. A member of a religious order. And it hit her like a piercing fire, and she  _knew_ , and we found each other. So I am telling you now, Damian: we  _will_  find each other, Thara and I. We were destined to be together, since the beginning of time. We  _have_  to be. It’s the only way to avoid great tragedy.”

            “I’m familiar with the bedtime story,” said Damian, irritated. “But – if I may comment on this, not as an objective observer, but as a friend – I think you’re putting far too much stock in the power of love, whatever that may be. I don’t mean to trivialize the feelings you had for her, because I know how… What I mean to say is, for example, when Iris and I-”

            Chris laughed, almost derisively. “You and Iris,” he said, “are very good for each other.” He paused. “But you do not love the way I loved Thara. The way Thara loved me. Nobody has ever loved _anybody_  like the way we loved each other. Don’t you understand? The force and will and strength of our love kept planets from destruction, kept atoms from splitting apart. No one has ever loved like Nightwing and Flamebird.”

            Damian let out a sigh. “Fine,” he said. “But there is absolutely no evidence that Thara has returned. I understand that it’s possible, Chris, I’m not discounting the possibility that perhaps there was some form of miracle – I mean, look at  _me_  – but if Thara were looking for you the way you’re looking for her, then surely we would have heard of it by now. Maybe you just need some time in the sun. Or away from the city? You and Milagro were talking about a retreat in Smallville, a while ago. If you asked me to, I would come.”

            Chris watched the screen above Damian, but then his gaze flickered hopefully down to the other boy. “You would?”  
            Damian shrugged. “Absolutely. It would be a learning experience, to say the least.”

            There was a silence in the Cave, and then Chris said quietly, “Thanks, Damian. That means a lot to me.” Chris said no more, and then, “But I don’t want to go to Smallville. That’s not my  _real_ home.”

            “I could send you back to your real home,” said Damian, typing Chris’s name into the database. “But I doubt you’d enjoy that.”

            “My  _true_  home,” pressed Chris, “is with Thara.”

            “Thara is-”

            “ _Alive_ ,” insisted Chris. “We have to find her. I can feel her, so I know I can find her.”

            “Where?” asked Damian, turning around. “Most Kryptonians aren’t anywhere near Earth. Not after the war.”

            “I told you,” said Chris. “We were in different realities, the first time she found me. That didn’t stop her.”

            “That was different,” said Damian reasonably. “She pulled you out of the Phantom Zone back then. That’s how strong your bond was. If you don’t even know where she is-”

            “-she is  _out there_ -”

            “Yes, fine, she could be,” said Damian, his patience running thin. “But if you don’t know  _where_ , then maybe it’s not as urgent as you think it is. Maybe this is just – I don’t know, maybe it has nothing to with Flamebird. Maybe you’re looking for something where there’s nothing to be found.”

            “No.”

            “Maybe this isn’t Nightwing,” continued Damian determinedly. “You could just be lonely, Chris. Searching for something.”

            “ _No!_ ” said Chris. “It’s Thara! I know it is!”

            “You  _don’t_  know that,” said Damian, standing up. Chris turned away; Damian took hold of his arm roughly. “Listen to me. You think this is just about you and Thara – you always have, that’s why you’re never completely  _there_  with us. But it doesn’t have to be about her.  _You_  don’t have to be about her.”

            Chris looked up at him, a deep loss in his eyes. “You can’t understand,” he said. “Thara and I were devotion. We were destiny. The stars aligned to give us our love, and-”

            “Your love didn’t survive,” said Damian stubbornly. “But Earth did. I respect the documented existence of your deities, but I don’t think you can put too much stock into some ancient mythology.”

            “New Krypton-”

            “-was destroyed  _before_  Thara died,” interrupted Damian. “You weren’t gods, Chris, you were kids. Kids with giants inside of you, but still. Children.”

            Chris pressed his hands against his eyes. And then he looked up. “I have to find her,” he said. “Please.”

            Damian considered his friend for a long moment, then let out an irritated sigh. “Fine,” he said. He tossed a communicator to Chris, who caught it. “Contact the team,” Damian said, heading down a flight of steps, further into the bowels of the Batcave. “I’ll get dressed.”  
            A few minutes later, Damian returned, tugging on his gloves. “Which jet should we use?” he called, skipping a few steps to meet Chris on the platform before the computer. “Are we looking at a trip into space?”

            “Possibly,” answered Chris. “I don’t know yet. I told everyone to meet us at the Tower, we can decide there.”

            “We don’t have an anything capable of sustained spaceflight at the Tower,” said Damian. “We decide now.”

            Chris hesitated. “What do you think?”  
            “No,” answered Damian immediately, turning to a wide, flat desk. He hit a few buttons, and the flat surface lit up with a holographic display. “There’s a significant Kryptonian colony in the Vega System, but there’s no way we’d be able to get all the way out there. And I doubt Thara is to be found there.”

            “Right,” said Chris. “She’s on Earth. I bet.”

            “There are approximately four hundred and twenty-nine Kryptonians in hiding on Earth,” said Damian, his hands shaping the display before him; a miniature, holographic planet Earth was displayed, bright pinpricks of green lighting up across the continents. Beside this, a database was scrolling quickly through a list of names and faces. Chris stared at this in awe.

            “How do you have this information?” asked Chris, reaching out to touch the displayed photos. “It’s not as if these people can possibly be documented.”

            “Not officially, no,” answered Damian. “But…” he flashed an arrogant smirk at Chris, “Batman.”

            Chris stared at the globe before him. The East Coast of the US was lit up by three dots – himself, Superman, and Supergirl. “So,” he said, the green lights reflected in his blue eyes. “One of these dots has got to be Thara.”

            “Presumably,” answered Damian. “If she’s alive.”

            “Which one?”

            Damian glanced at Chris, then brought up another screen, an image of a great dark dragon-creature writhing in the dusk.

            Chris ducked his eyes away. “How did you find out about that so quickly?” he asked.

            Damian ignored this, manipulating the screen further to bring up an image of a desert bluish-gray in the light of the moon. There was a burst of blinding yellow light, hovering for almost a full minute before abruptly disappearing. Damian closed the video. “We caught that from satellite,” he said, “in Peru. Twenty minutes ago.”

            An urgent, hungering feeling filled Chris’s chest. “That’s her,” he said desperately. “That’s her. I know it is.”

            Damian closed the image on the desk, turning the holographic display back to a moving image of the globe. “Chris,” he said, glancing at his friend. “If that’s really her, then why didn’t you know where she was?”

            “I don’t know,” said Chris. “But I  _have_  to find her.”

            For a moment, Damian considered this, and then he went back to the display; manipulating it with his hands, he magnified South America. There was a small cluster of green dots in a Brazilian city, but otherwise the surface was dark.

            Damian said, “There are no Kryptonians where that image was captured. Not for hundreds of miles.”

            Chris didn’t say anything. Then: “None that you know about.”

            “No,” said Damian, patience running thin in his voice. “This is Batman’s tech, Chris. I’m  _pretty_ sure.”

            “But I  _know_ -”

            “Let’s face it,” interrupted Damian, his voice suddenly loud and aggressive, shutting down the holographic display. “You  _don’t_  know. I do. Everything I just showed to you is based on cold, hard evidence. And now it’s the middle of the night and you’ve just torn our team out of their beds and into some wild chase halfway across the world for a dead woman.” Chris began to raise his voice in protest, but Damian spoke over him stonily: “The only reason I’m not sending you off by yourself is because you’d hurt yourself. You’re not well right now, and what I really should have done is called Superman and sent you home, but I didn’t do that.” He stopped abruptly, watching Chris. “I’m humoring you,” he said, something like a warning in his voice, “because I know you’d do the same for me.”

            There was a silence between them, and Chris looked away. Then he said, “So are you coming, or not?”  
            It was not long until they landed at the Tower. Three young women were waiting for them in the docking bay; when Damian opened the doors, one of them called, “Thanks for keeping us waiting, Birdbrain.”

            “Shut up, Milagro,” he murmured, sounding gloomy. “Come on. We’re going to Peru.”

            “Peru?” asked Iris, flickering up the entrance to stand by him. “What’s in Peru?”

            “Whatever Chris is looking for, I’m sure,” said Lian, ascending into the jet. “Where is he, anyway?”

            “Looking at maps,” answered Damian as Milagro floated in behind them, her body surrounded with a familiar green glow. “He thinks he’ll be able to feel her, as soon as he knows where she is.”

            “Her?” asked Iris. “Who are we looking for?”

            Heading towards the cockpit, taking the pilot’s seat – Lian sat beside him, co-pilot, and Iris leaned on the back of Damian’s seat. As he started the jet, he began hesitantly, “He thinks the Flamebird is alive.”

            “Flamebird?” asked Lian. “Bette Kane doesn’t go by that name anymore.”

            “I don’t mean Bette Kane,” said Damian darkly. “I mean  _the_  Flamebird. Thara Ak-Var.”

            “Thara Ak-Var,” repeated Milagro, scanning the information she’d projected from her ring before her. “Isn’t she dead? And also, wouldn’t she be, like, ten years older than him? His rapid aging reversed after he was sent back to the Phantom Zone.”

            “Man, that would suck,” said Iris sympathetically, shaking her head.

            “She is dead, yes,” answered Damian, flipping switches on the control panel. “But Chris has had – I don’t know, an episode of sorts. He was hardly coherent when he came to me. But he’s sure about this, and I am not one to ignore the needs of my friends.”

            Lian actually snorted. “Yeah,” she said, “as long as the friends in question are male.”

            Damian glared at her. “If you had a vision of a long-dead love,” he said, “I would be more than happy to help you find her, Lian.”

            “Thanks,” she replied. “But she’s far from long-dead, cutie.”

            There was a sinking, awkward silence.

            And then Milagro said, “Peru, huh?”

            “Yes,” answered Damian, relieved to have something else to talk about. “A few hundred miles south of Lima.”

            “Ah. You get that weird reading too?”

            “Yes,” said Damian. “I should have known you’d seen it too. Lanterns do try to watch the skies. Do you have the images?”

            “Yep, on the ring.”

            “Will you share them with our more ignorant teammates?”  
            Lian shot a withering look at Damian, then turned around to see the projection from Milagro’s ring. Although it was completely in green, the scale and breadth of the thing was still visible.

            “So, what?” asked Iris, turning around to look at Damian, after the image disappeared. “Chris thinks this has something to do with the Flamebird?”

            “Specifically,” said Damian, “he thinks it’s to do with Thara. But yes.” He paused, then added, “And, to be honest, I’m not completely skeptical. He had a similar event happen to him a few hours ago. If there is another Kryptonian deity out there, it may have been responding to the Nightwing’s call, in a way.”

            Peering at Damian with dark eyes, irises like drops of oil on a white canvas, Lian said, “I thought Chris no longer had any connection to the Nightwing.”

            Damian let out a little noise. “Technically,” he said, “I would say that’s true.  _Chris_  had to connection to the god. But that isn’t to say the god had no connection to  _Chris_.”

            “You don’t believe in God,” said Iris, her hands sneaking onto Damian’s shoulders.

            “That doesn’t matter,” said Damian dismissively. “I believe in Chris.”

            There was a pause. Then Iris said, “Me too. Whether or not this has anything to do with the girl he loved, I think there’s something really noble about helping a friend. Even more so, maybe, when you know they’re wrong.”

            “He might not be totally wrong,” said Milagro fairly. “When we talk about these beings – if they’re gods or ghosts or aliens or whatever – we have to remember their power. They’re not like any of us, they’re not even like Superman – they do what they want, because they don’t have to adhere to the same basic laws as we do. The Nightwing is made up of darkness and shadows-”

            “So why he’s in Chris, I’ll never know,” muttered Lian.

            “-and he’s the  _ruler_  of those places. You know? He can do anything in the dark.”

            “And the Flamebird?” asked Iris. “What does she do?”

            “She destroys,” said Damian simply.

            There was a silence.

            Eventually, Milagro and Iris left to talk to Chris, to see what they could find. Lian and Damian sat in silence, peering out at the night before them.

            And then, Lian said casually, “You’re not actually expecting us to waltz up to some poor kid who has no idea why a giant flaming bird just burst out of them and tell them they’re destined to fall in love with Chris. Right?”

            “You didn’t have to come,” said Damian coolly. “I should have handled this without any of you.”

            “No, I’m glad he called us,” replied Lian pointedly. “Anything for young love. You should know that.”

            They said nothing. Then Damian told her, “I’m going to land the jet and let him try and find her. When he can’t, we’ll go home.”

            “Really.”

            “Yes.”

            “What if he can?”

            “He can’t,” said Damian. “He keeps saying that he can  _feel_  her but he can’t even articulate what that means. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole thing wasn’t even related to the Nightwing, and instead has something to do with some awful, yet undiscovered part of Kryptonian puberty.”

            Lian laughed. “And if we find her? The Flamebird, I mean. I don’t even know what I think about Thara.”

            “I think that we won’t,” said Damian fairly. “But if we do…” he paused, hesitating, searching for the right words to end the thought. Neither of them said anything for a few moments. And then, quietly, almost gently, Damian said, “It will be enough for him just to see her.”

            Lian did not argue with that. The jet moved on in the dark night.

            When they landed, Chris hovered anxiously behind Damian, waiting for the doors to open. Before they did, though, he glanced at Lian, who turned to look at the Kryptonian.

            “Chris,” she said. “You have to promise us you won’t go running off.”

            “OK,” said Chris impatiently. “OK, OK.”

            “I’m serious,” warned Lian.

            “OK! Let me out!”

            “If you do,” continued Lian, “then we’ll get Iris to chase you down. She can catch you, you know.”

            “ _Fine_ ,” he said, exasperated. “Can I get out of this metal deathtrap?”

            Damian exchanged glances with Lian, and then opened the bay doors.

            As soon as the fresh Peruvian air rushed into the ship, darkness flooded the entire inside of the jet, and every one of the Titans felt their stomach flop the way it does when you’re coming down a flight of stairs and think there’s another step at the bottom, and there isn’t; it was a senseless, spinning sort of vertigo, heightened by Iris’s physiological speed. As it deepened and increased and pressed against her, she almost passed out, hearing the blood pumping in her head.

            And then, just as quickly as it had come on, it disappeared. It was still nighttime, and the lights of the jet had all gone out, but there was enough ambient light from the moon and stars to see what was going on.

            “Dammit,” swore Damian, getting out of his seat. “ _Dammit_.”

            “He’s not breathing,” said Milagro, kneeling by Chris, unconscious in the middle of the jet. “But – oh, wait, I guess Kryptonians don’t breathe, though. Ring says he’s fine.”

            “What just happened?” asked Lian, as Iris leaned heavily against the side of the ship, breathing deeply. “What was that?”  
            “The Nightwing, probably,” said Damian, looking down at Chris, then up. There was a large, jagged hole in the top of the jet, presumably where the Nightwing’s form had manifested in the darkness.

            “You think we really are near Flamebird?” asked Milagro, straightening up. “It could be that he’s reacting to the close proximity.”

            “I don’t know,” said Damian grimly, watching the hole in the ship warily. “But we’re out of a ride back home.”

            “That’s fine,” said Lian, taking a knee beside Chris. “I have access to JLA transporters. We can use those.”

            Looking back down to Lian, Damian’s eyes narrowed. “And why have you never shared this before?”  
            “Because they’re for emergency only,” she answered, without glancing up at Damian. “And the rest of the League doesn’t know my father gave me the codes.”

            Despite the odd situation, Damian felt an odd twinge of jealousy, realizing that his father had never given him any JLA transporter codes.

            Iris collected herself, then asked, “Chris is OK, though?”

            “Yeah,” said Milagro. “He’ll be fine, as soon as he wakes up.”

            Loudly, with a soft slap to Chris’s cheek, Lian called the boy’s name. “Chris,” she said. Then, raising her voice, she slapped him again, harder this time. “ _Chris_.” When there was no response, she glanced around and, to the area at large, she said, “Look – Nightwing, or whatever you are. If you’ve hurt him…”

            “Don’t be stupid,” muttered Damian, joining her beside Chris. “He can’t even feel that.”

            He pulled his fist back and then propelled it forward, punching Chris, hard, in the jaw. After a moment, Chris’s eyes fluttered open.

            “Th..Tha…”

            He stared straight up without seeing for a moment, then, regaining awareness, glanced around. Without any help, he sat up, rubbing his head.

            “What happened?” he asked.

            “The Nightwing showed up,” answered Lian. “Are you OK?”

            “Yeah,” replied Chris. “But…I can feel it. Like a burning. She’s close.”

            Milagro hung over him, glowing green in the darkness. “Can you control that, at all?” she asked. “The Nightwing, I mean. Can you feel it when he starts to – you know – pop out?”

            “No,” answered Chris, getting to his feet; Lian helped him up. “It’s out of nowhere. I just black out.”

            Her eyes skating across the others, Lian, her voice raised, asked, “Iris? You OK?”

            “Yeah,” breathed Iris, steadying herself. She shot a little grin at Lian. “Codenames when we’re in the field, Arsenal.”

            Lian nodded, letting go of Chris. Milagro asked, “Superboy, if you can feel her – do you have any idea where she might be? We really don’t have the resources for a manhunt, if that’s what it comes down to.”

            “Manhunt isn’t really the right word,” murmured Lian, looking Chris up and down. “Witch hunt, more like.”

            “I – I don’t know,” admitted Chris. “But I can  _feel_  her.” He glanced at them, then added, “And I’m not Superboy, I’m  _Nightwing_ , OK?”

            “No,” said Damian shortly. “You’re not. The name is taken.”

            “That’s not fair!” said Chris, turning to face Damian. “The name Nightwing is  _mine_ , it comes from  _my_  culture – it’s sacred!”  
            “Too bad,” said Damian, passing him, heading out of the jet. “You are Superboy. Don’t forget that. Whatever you may or may not have inside of you…” he paused, glancing around at Chris, “…you _are_ Superboy.”

            There was a profound silence. Damian exited the jet. With an emphatic look at Iris, Lian followed him, and Milagro a moment later.

            Iris flickered to Chris’s side; so fast that no one but he would have been able to understand, she said, “I’ll call you Nightwing, if that’s what you want.”

            Chris looked at her, and smiled weakly. “Thanks, Impulse,” he said. “I get why he’s weird about the name. But, I don’t know…” he hesitated, looking out at where the others were, “…it’s  _my_ name. You know?”

            Iris nodded wisely, and then, together, they followed the others.

            As the jet closed behind them and Damian activated the cloaking, Chris winced, his face twisting painfully, clutching his head with one hand. “Superboy?” asked Lian sharply. “Are you all right?”

            “Y…yeah,” answered Chris. “I…I just…”

            Damian glanced around, one eye on the other boy. Milagro was scanning the area with her ring; Iris reached out to put her hand on Chris’s shoulder, but before she could, a deafening, unholy screaming rang out, and she was physically thrown backward with the force at which Chris launched off the ground.

            Instantly, the team devolved into shouts – Iris yelled up at Chris, Lian echoing her calls but with more tension, and Damian barking commands, physically reacting to his sudden loss of control over the situation. Milagro took only a moment to shoot upwards after Chris, a pinprick of green light in the sky. Chris’s body, high in the dark night sky, hung immobile, arms thrown out, chest open, head lolling loosely on his shoulders. The screaming disappeared, but as Milagro approached him, covered in glowing green armor, his head snapped up, neck straight, and shining red beams shot straight out of his eyes; Iris shouted at Milagro, and Lian and Damian glanced at each other. She knew him well enough to detect the fear in his eyes.

            Just as quickly, the great black shape of a beast, more dragon than eagle, consumed the sky above them; Iris screamed Milagro’s name, and Lian finally raised her weapons, shooting indiscriminately into the blackness, searching for something.

            The giant shadow-creature moved, its wings beating with the force of a jet, and it moved far faster than anything its size had any right to move; just as quickly as it had came on, it headed away, covering miles in mere seconds.

            In the air above them, a single, small body fell through the air limply. There was panic in Damian’s voice as he shouted, “ _Lantern!_ ” and Lian desperately ran through her weapons, searching for something that could halt Milagro’s fall, and then-

            A flash of green light, and Milagro swooped upwards, hovering in the air, ring outstretched, then slowly, gracefully, lowering herself to the ground. Shaking her head, distraught, she said, “I lost him.”

            “That’s all right,” said Damian, but Lian cut him off.

            “No, you didn’t,” she said, retrieving a small device from her pack. “Well, to be fair,  _you_  did, but _we_  didn’t.”

            Dimly, Milagro asked, “What?” and then Damian glanced around, narrowed his eyes, and asked, “Where’s Impulse?”

            “She’s following him,” answered Lian. “She can keep up with that thing no problem. She’ll lead us right to them.”

            “Them?” asked Milagro. “So what? You really think he’s going to find Thara?”

            “The Nightwing obviously senses something,” said Damian, peering out before them. “I can’t think of anywhere else he’d be taking Superboy.”

            There was a pause, and then Milagro asked, “Arsenal, can I see that thing?”

            Lian nodded, and handed the tracker to Milagro; she held out her hand and the ring scanned the small machine, then, handing it back to Lian, she constructed a small platform with her ring.

            “OK,” she said. “Get on. We’re going after Impulse and Superboy.”

            In flight, Damian crouched unflinchingly towards the horizon, Lian behind him. After a few moments, Milagro pretending not to hear, Lian said quietly, “She can take care of herself, you know.”

            “I know that,” answered Damian scathingly. “But forgive me if I think this is just slightly out of her depth.”

            “This is out of all of our depths,” said Lian. “But – you’ve gotta know – if there’s one of us who can stack up to Chris, in terms raw power-”

            “She’s only human.”

            “Yeah, but a whole lot more  _super_  than the rest of us,” said Lian. “You know what she can do with the Speed Force. She’s not the one you should be worried about, Robin.”

            There was a silence. Then Damian said, shortly, “You have no idea what I worry about.”

            “I can only hope it’s mostly about how much of a jerk you are. You think you understand what he’s going through? You don’t. Quit thinking you do.”

            Damian didn’t reply to that, but Lian could see the sharpness in his face, the way this had pierced him.

            A few moments later, Milagro said, “Hold on, it looks like she’s stopped.”

            “Wh-?” But before Damian could finish his question, before them there a great light exploded, turning the deep night into, for one moment, clear, bright day. They shielded their eyes against the blast, which eventually faded.

            “There,” said Lian, in response to Damian’s unfinished question, “probably.”

            The communicators in their ears burst to life. “Oh my  _God_ ,” came Iris’s awestruck voice. “It’s…it’s… _incredible_ …”

            “Impulse,” said Damian, before anyone else could speak. “Are you all right? We saw that explosion, whatever it was. Is anyone hurt?”

            “It wasn’t an explosion,” said Iris, almost urgently. “It was them. Robin. It was  _them_. They’re _real_  – Damian – th-they’re –  _beautiful_ -”

            As she said this, her voice crackled on the connection, and then faded into white noise. Damian swore, and Lian said, “GL, let’s hurry up and get there.”

            “Don’t rush me!” said Milagro. “Let’s see  _you_  try and fly two other people across a country.”

            Finally, they reached a huge, empty space, an expanse of desert that seemed curiously unnatural, as if man-made. Iris waved at them, and Milagro lowered them to the ground, and although Damian did not immediately rush forward, relief was written across his face. No more than ten feet away, Chris lay on the ground, along with another body, noticeably smaller than him. Lian felt her heart slow slightly in shock.

            “Impulse,” said Damian. “What happened? How’s Superboy?”

            “They  _met_ ,” she said, and her voice seemed bursting with joy. “They saw each other, and they _touched_. I saw it. It was  _beautiful_. Beyond beautiful. It was…”

            “Human.”

            They all turned around. Milagro was hovering over the other body, the one lying beside Chris. She met their gazes wearily.

            “She’s human,” she repeated blankly, gesturing to the body below her, which the ring was still scanning. “One hundred percent earthling.”

            Cautiously, Damian made his way over to her. “That’s impossible,” he said. “The Flamebird is a Kryptonian deity.”

            “Maybe it’s not really her,” said Lian, although she did not move.

            “ _No_ ,” insisted Iris. “I saw her. She was –  _perfect_. And she was a goddess, just like Chris said. She and – the Nightwing, I guess – they were like  _one_ , you know? The second they touched, it was like they weren’t two different things anymore. It’s got to be her.”

            Damian knelt beside the girl. He reached out and touched her jaw, moving her face to inspect it carefully. With an annoyed little sigh, Lian jogged over to where he was and pushed Damian out of the way. “Don’t touch her,” she said. “She could be injured.”

            “She’s not,” said Milagro. “Neither is Chris. Their vitals are fine, I’m not sure why they’re unconscious. It’s probably some kind of – I don’t know, some psychic thing, maybe?”

            “That’s probably right,” said Lian, gently adjusting the girl’s arm, which had fallen at an odd angle. “That’s where the gods work, anyway.”

            “They’re not  _gods_ ,” insisted Damian, irritated, but they all ignored him.

            “Can you get an ID on her, GL?” asked Lian, but Milagro shook her head.

            “I’m working on it. I have a general location where the Flamebird first manifested, but nothing beyond that.”

            “OK. Robin, wake Superboy.”

            “You mean Nightwing,” said Iris.

            “ _Superboy_ ,” said Damian firmly, then he went over to Chris. Iris followed him.

            “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Punch him again?”

            Damian considered this, then glanced around at Lian, still huddled over the girl’s body. Facing Iris again, he asked, his voice hushed, “Or you could wake him.”

            Iris met Damian’s gaze, then glanced down at Chris. “I’m not sure it would even work on him.”

            “Try.”

            For a moment, Iris didn’t move. She lowered her hands to Chris’s chest, pressing her palms flat above his uniform. And then, she shimmered, nearly intangible, and a flickering pulse of white light was transferred from her body to Chris’s, and the Kryptonian awoke with a gasp; Iris instantly removed her hands.

            He let out an uncharacteristic cough, and then groaned in what seemed like pain, rolling over to his side. “Superboy,” said Damian. “Are you all right?”

            “What just hit me?” he gasped, rubbing his chest. “Like…hit by  _lightning_ …”

            “Must be lingering effects of the Nightwing,” said Damian grimly, without glancing up at Iris. “Can you stand?”

            “Yeah,” panted Chris. “I’ll…I’ll be all right.”

            Iris didn’t look at Damian, and there was no trace of anxiety on her face. There was a loud breath, then unfamiliar voice behind them; then Lian said, “Robin.”

            Damian moved back to where the girl was. She was trying to get to her feet, babbling in some indiscernible language frantically, nearly in tears – Milagro alit on the ground, holding her hands out to the girl. “ _Tranquilízate, somos amigos, queremos ayudarte, somos amigos_ …”

            The girl scrambled away from them, stumbled, and fell. Damian knelt before her, and said, “ _Sutiymi_  Robin,” then something else in a language none of them understood. She stopped speaking, looking up at him breathlessly. She said something, and Damian nodded, then replied to her. “Quechua,” he muttered, glancing up at Lian, who was about to ask. “Lantern, is there anything you can do about the translation?”

            “Oh,” said Milagro. “Uh. I don’t know. I’ll try.”

            Damian looked at the girl again, and said something to her. There was a distinct softness in his voice, and even a gentle, easy smile on his face. The girl glanced around at everyone else, then said something else, her voice meek. Damian nodded reassuringly, and held out a hand to her. She looked at him, then, slowly, took it.

            Milagro’s translators – a small green device at each of their ears – kicked in just as the girl spoke again. “-happening to me?” she asked fearfully.

            “It’s complicated,” said Damian, with far more sympathy than he usually exhibited. “But let me assure you again that you’re not in any danger.”

            Lian watched the girl. “Who is this?” she asked.

            “This is Quya,” said Damian. “She is, it seems, decidedly human.”

            “What does that mean?” asked the girl, still sounding afraid; but there was also something stronger, like a demand, in her voice. “Of course I am human. What are all of you?”

            “I’m human,” said Damian, turning back to her, pointing to himself. “So are these three.” He gestured to the girls. “We didn’t expect you to be.”

            She watched them guardedly. “Why not?” she asked.

            “Because,” said Lian, “you have a Kryptonian deity inside of you, Quya.”

            The girl – Quya – glanced between all of them, confusion of her face. “Kryp…tonian?”

            “Like Superman,” offered Iris helpfully.

            “Superman?” repeated the girl, in what seemed like disbelief. “You are from the  _Superman?_ ”

            “No, he didn’t send us,” said Lian. “We’re here because of the thing inside of you. You know there’s something there, right?”

            Quya did not move for a moment and then, slowly, she nodded.

            “That’s not from this Earth,” explained Lian. “And it’s extremely powerful.”

            “I know,” said the girl indignantly. “You did not have to come to me to tell me that. And it is not _Kryptonian_ , whatever that is.”

            “Yes. It is.”

            They all fell silent. Damian shifted out of the way; Chris was standing across from the girl, staring at her.

            For a moment, no one said anything. The sounds of the stark night whispered around them, and an unnatural wind swept past them.

            The girl asked, her words barely above a breath, “Why am I here?”  
            “Because,” said Chris, “of us.”

            “Us?”

            “You,” said Chris, moving towards her, “and me. What’s inside of us. A part of us.”

            She didn’t say anything, allowing Chris to stand closely before her. Her eyes flickered to his lips, then back up his face, meeting his eyes. “This power,” she said. “It isn’t mine?”

            Chris opened his mouth as if to reply, then stopped, holding his tongue. Finally, breaking her gaze, he looked down and murmured, “It’s yours. The Flamebird – that’s what we call her, in my language-” Damian became suddenly aware that Chris was no longer speaking in English, but in his own native language, “-she is a goddess to my people.”

            “Your people,” echoed the girl. “Americans?”

            He let out a reluctant little laugh. “Kryptonians,” he said. “Like Superman. We have gods.” He paused, watching her. Then, grasping at straws, he asked, “Do you have… In your faith, do you have gods?”

            She hesitated, watching him with wide eyes. “I have God,” she said. “And…” she said a word which Damian did not know, but Milagro’s translators turned it into, “… _spirits_. But not gods.”

            Chris watched her, and then he said, “That’s what this power is. It’s a god. Inside of you.”

            Slowly, the girl shook her head. “No,” she said. “She is… _Mama Pacha_.  _La Morenita._ ” Milagro had no translations for these names. “Not a god.”

            “Her name is Flamebird,” said Chris resolutely. “The thing inside of me – it’s the Nightwing. They’re…connected. You felt that, right? Like you couldn’t run from it. We’re tied together.”

            Warily, she regarded him. “I could not run from it,” she agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I did not want to.”

            The silence turned icy; the wind swept around them again, and the moon shone on them. In the darkness, her eyes seemed to spark, warm brown burning, smoldering deep inside.

            “You are  _Flamebird_ ,” he insisted. “I can feel it. She is inside you. You are her…” he struggled to find the word, “container.”

            “Container?” repeated the girl, sounding insulted. “I am not a  _container_.”

            “That’s not what he’s trying to say,” said Lian, leaning forward. “You’re much more than that. You’re holy. You have something great and powerful inside of you, something inextricably tied to him.”

            She looked at Chris with an expression bordering on disgust. “I know I am holy,” she said, glancing back at Lian. “And that I am powerful. But I still do not know who you are, or why I am here.”

            “Because you  _have_  to be,” stressed Chris. “Because you couldn’t help it. We were  _drawn together_ , Thara-”

            He stopped abruptly.

            Iris moved forward, beside Chris, her hand on his shoulder, pulling him slightly away from the girl.

            “ _Thara_ ,” said Quya, slowly. “I don’t understand this word.”

            “Chris,” murmured Iris, “maybe you should go back.”

            “No,” said Chris helplessly, blinking at the girl before him. “No, I…” He shook off Iris, then reached out and took the girl’s hands, holding them, peering anxiously into her eyes. “Listen. Listen to me. You feel it inside of you. Right? So I know you can feel what is inside of  _me_ , too. Then you must know that this was meant to happen. We were meant to meet, because – this is how the stories go.”

            She slid her hands out of his grip, her head shaking back and forth slightly. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear. “No,” she said, and her voice was not gentle. “I am not who you think.”

            “Yes,” insisted Chris. “You are.”

            Iris took his shoulder again. “Chris-”

            “You  _are_ ,” he said, reaching out to physically take hold of Quya, by the shoulders. “I  _know_  you, I can  _feel_  you. You  _have_  to be her. You are the Flamebird, that I know, so you  _have_  to be Thara-”

            “Chris,” said Iris, with more force. “Let her go.”

            “You  _are_ ,” he said, his voice trembling. “You  _have to be_. I’ve – I’ve been waiting  _so long_  to have her back – I-”

            “Superboy,” said Damian sharply, and Iris glanced at him, then back at Chris.

            “It’s time to leave,” said Iris loudly. “Chris. If you don’t let her go, I’ll-”

            But then, suddenly, the girl’s eyes turned glassy, and the expression slid off her face.

            She reached out with both hands and touched Chris’s face.

             _The moon. The sun. Darkness. Fire. Burning the edges of the shadow into ash, resurrected in the starlight; a great dragon, and the earth shaking – bodies starved, forgotten, abandoned, the swollen earth-_

_NIGHT BINDS BETWEEN DAYS. SHADOW CLINGS TO BODY._

_WHERE THERE IS ORDER THERE MUST ALWAYS BE A CHAOS-MAKER AND A BRINGER-OF-NOTHING WHERE THERE IS SHADE ALSO MUST THERE ALWAYS BE FIRE AND SO SAY RAO-THE-FATHER:_

_COME FIRE COME REBIRTH_

When she took her hands away from his face, he was on his knees; there was a burning in his mind, the remnants of her destroying-fire which had torn him into pieces, emptied what he knew, consummated a void to which he had nothing more than the responsibility to fill.

            He dropped his gaze, eyes on the ground, on her bare feet.

            Then he got to one knee, then pushed himself up so he stood before her.

            She reached out. Her eyes burned white with fire that only he could see; she placed a hand over his heart, and she whispered to him: “Where there is creation, there must always be destruction.”

            He bowed his head, a black, shadowy darkness edging in at the corners of his being. He placed his hand over hers. “Where there is anything,” he replied, in his native tongue, “there will always be nothing.”

            Slowly, solemnly, she nodded. For one single moment, then held their hands over his heart, and then it passed, and the flames in her eyes faded and the emptiness hanging over him dissipated, and they looked tired. They were, once more, children.

            “I have to go now,” she said, looking at the rest of the team.

            Confused, Milagro glanced at the others, then began, “OK…do you, um…need a ride back home?”

            “No,” said the girl. She looked to Lian, and almost smiled. “I am powerful. You know that.”

            Carefully, Lian asked, “We understand that, but if we can help…”

            “I think,” said Quya, “it would be best if you left now.”

            “What?” asked Iris, looking at Chris. “What’s going on? What just happened?”

            “She’s right,” said Chris, his voice dull. “There’s nothing for us here.”

            There was a silence. Quya smiled at them, and although she was completely human, there was something not-quite-earthly about that shining grin.

            Damian said quietly, “Let’s go.”

            Nobody said anything. The girl smiled at them, the smile of a goddess fulfilled. They did not argue as Milagro disabled the translators and constructed another platform, like the one that had brought them there.

            Chris lifted off the ground, hovering above the girl. He said something in his own harsh, halting language.

            The girl nodded. The moment between them was deep and powerful. Chris’s words came back to Damian’s mind.  _Our love kept planets from destruction, kept atoms from splitting apart. No one has ever loved like Nightwing and Flamebird._

The Flamebird said to the Nightwing, “ _Paqarinkama_ ,” and then she was gone. As the fire of the girl’s dragon-phoenix-self disappeared, the night seemed to become deeper and darker. The Kryptonian deity of phantoms and shadows was alone.

            Lian used the transporter codes to get them back to the Tower almost instantly. They were all silent, but they did not depart. They stood on the open roof of the Tower, the moon above them, reflected on the gentle ocean swells below them, but not nearly as bright as it had been where they had met Flamebird.

            “What happened?” asked Iris, her voice hushed. “What did she do to you?”

            Chris looked up at her, exhausted.

            “The Flamebird,” he said emptily, “is the bringer of renewal and rebirth. She wields chaos fire, and she brings destruction to that which must be destroyed.”

            He fell silent. Milagro and Iris were watching him with eyes full of concern; Iris touched him gently, holding his arm. Lian stood a ways away, staring at Chris. Damian would not look at the other boy.

            “Clearing away the fallow. Culling to prevent stagnation. Cutting ties. That is her duty. That is what she has done.”

            The depth of his grief penetrated the silence; Iris held back tears.

            Quietly, he pulled away from Iris’s grip, then Chris said, his voice unwavering and ceremonial, reciting Scripture: “The Nightwing exists in the darkness, all-seeing in the deep night, hidden to daylight eyes.”

            He stared up at the moon.

            “Thus the Nightwing,” he murmured, “was always the loneliest of Rao’s children.”

            He lifted into the night, and the darkness swallowed him, and he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> So despite having more ladies than boys, this fic still centered around Chris (and Damian tbh) and doesn’t even pass the Bechdel test, and that makes me bitter.
> 
> The ending might be a bit too ambiguous, and I know it feels rushed but idk I had trouble putting the Flamebird/Nightwing connection into words. Let me know if it’s tooooo confusing. 
> 
> (Also: the JLI of Earth-28 might even worth be addressing if its led by this lovely lady introduced here)


End file.
